“Isn’t that carrying consideration too far?” asked Mary Louise.
“No. Our ministers are after the unregenerates, not after the godly. The noblest act of humanity is to uplift a fellow creature. Even in our prisons we try to reform criminals, to make honest men of them rather than condemn them to a future of crime. It would be dreadful to say: ‘You’re all yellow; go to thunder!’“
“Yes; I believe you’re right,” approved the other girl. “That is, your theory is correct, but the wicked sometimes refuse to reform.”
“Usually the fault of the reformers, my dear. But suppose we redeem a few of them, isn’t it worth while? Now, let me see. Here’s a washwoman who says the Kaiser is a gentleman, and a street-car driver who says it’s a rich man’s war. No use bothering with such people in our present state of blind groping. And here’s the list that you, yourself, gave to me: One Silas Herring, a wholesale grocer. I’m going to see him. He’s a big, successful man, and being opposed to the administration is dangerous. Herring is worth investigating, and with him is associated Professor John Dyer, superintendent of schools.”
“Oh, Professor Dyer is all right,” said Mary Louise hastily. “It was he who helped bring Mr. Herring to time, and afterward he took Gran’pa Jim’s place on the Bond Committee and solicited subscriptions.”
“Did he get any?”
“Any what?”
“Subscriptions.”
“ — I believe so. Really, I don’t know.”
“Well, I know,” said Josie, “for I’ve inspected the records. Your professor — who, by the way, is only a professor by courtesy and a politician by profession — worked four days on the bond sale and didn’t turn in a single subscription. He had a lot of wealthy men on his list and approached them in such a manner that they all positively declined to buy bonds. Dyer’s activities kept these men from investing in bonds when, had they been properly approached, they would doubtless have responded freely.”
“Good gracious! Are you sure, Josie?”
“I’m positive. I’ve got a cross opposite the name of Professor John Dyer, and I’m going to know more about him — presently. His bosom chum is the Honorable Andrew Duncan, a man with an honest Scotch name but only a thirty-second or so of Scotch blood in his veins. His mother was a German and his grandmother Irish and his greatgrandmother a Spanish gipsy.”
“How did you learn all that, Josie?”
“By making inquiries. Duncan was born in Dorfield and his father was born in the county. He’s a typical American — a product of the great national melting-pot — but no patriot because he has no sympathy for any of the European nations at war, or even with the war aims of his native land. He’s a selfish, scheming, unprincipled politician; an office-holder ever since he could vote; a man who would sacrifice all America to further his own personal ends.”
“Then, you think Mr. Duncan may — might be — is — ”
“No,” said Josie, “I don’t. The man might instigate a crime and encourage it, in a subtle and elusive way, but he’s too shrewd to perpetrate a crime himself. I wouldn’t be surprised if Duncan could name the man — or the band of traitors — we’re looking for, if he chose to, but you may rest assured he has not involved his own personality in any scheme to balk the government.”
“I can’t understand that sort of person,” said Mary. Louise, plaintively.
“It’s because you haven’t studied the professional politician. He has been given too much leeway heretofore, but his days, I firmly believe, are now numbered,” Josie answered. “Now, here’s my excuse for investigating Silas Herring and his two cronies, Dyer and Duncan. All three of them happen to be political bosses in this section. It is pretty generally known that they are not in sympathy with President Wilson and the administration. They are shrewd enough to know that the popularity of the war and the President’s eloquent messages have carried the country by storm. So they cannot come right out into the open with their feelings. At the same time, they can feel themselves losing control of the situation. In fact, the Herring gang is fearful that at the coming elections they will be swept aside and replaced with out-and-out loyal supporters of the President. So they’re going to try to arouse sentiment against the administration and against the war, in order to head off the threatened landslide. Dyer hoped to block the sale of Liberty Bonds, blinding folks to his intent by subscribing for them himself; but you girls foiled that scheme by your enthusiastic ‘drive.’ What the other conspirators have done, I don’t know, but I imagine their energies will not be squelched by one small defeat. I don’t expect to land any of the three in jail, but I think they all ought to be behind the bars, and if I shadow them successfully, one or the other may lead me to their tools or confederates — the ones directly guilty of issuing the disloyal circulars and perhaps of placing the bomb that damaged the airplane works and murdered some of its employes.”
Mary Louise was pale with horror when Josie finished her earnest and convincing statement. She regarded her friend’s talent with profound admiration. Nevertheless, the whole matter was becoming so deep, so involved that she could only think of it with a shudder.
“I’m almost sorry,” said the girl, regretfully, “that I ever mixed up in this dreadful thing.”
“I’m not sorry,” returned Josie. “Chasing traitors isn’t the pleasantest thing in the world, even for a regular detective, but it’s a duty I owe my country and I’m sufficiently interested to probe the affair to the extent of my ability. If I fail, nothing is lost, and if I win I’ll have done something worth while. Here’s another name on the list of suspects you gave me — Annie Boyle, the hotel-keeper’s daughter.”
“Don’t bother about Annie, for goodness’ sake,” exclaimed Mary Louise. “She hasn’t the brains or an opportunity to do any harm, so you’d better class her with Kasker and the butcher.”
But Josie shook her head.
“There’s a cross opposite her name,” said she. “I don’t intend to shuffle Annie Boyle into the discard until I know more about her.”
CHAPTER XII
JOSIE BUYS A DESK
The “Liberty Girls’ Shop” was proving a veritable mint. Expenses were practically nothing, so all the money received could be considered clear profit. It was amusing to observe the people who frequented the shop, critically examining the jumble of wares displayed, wondering who had donated this or that and meantime searching for something that could be secured at a “bargain.” Most of the shrewd women had an idea that these young girls would be quite ignorant of values and might mark the articles at prices far below their worth, but the “values” of such goods could only be conjectural, and therefore the judgment of the older women was no more reliable than that of the girls. They might think they were getting bargains, and perhaps were, but that was problematic.
The one outstanding fact was that people were buying a lot of things they had no use for, merely because they felt they were getting them cheaply and that their money would be devoted to a good cause.
Mrs. Brown, who had given the Shop a lot of discarded articles, purchased several discarded articles donated by Mrs. Smith, her neighbor, while Mrs. Smith eagerly bought the cast-off wares of Mrs. Brown. Either would have sneered at the bare idea of taking “truck” which the other had abandoned, had the medium of exchange not been the popular Liberty Girls’ Shop. For it was a popular shop; the “best families” patronized it; society women met there to chat and exchange gossip; it was considered a mark of distinction and highly patriotic to say: “Oh, yes; I’ve given the dear girls many really valuable things to sell. They’re doing such noble work, you know.”
Even the eminent Mrs. Charleworth, premier aristocrat of Dorfield, condescended to visit the Shop, not once but many times. She would sit in one of the chairs in the rear of the long room and hold open court, while her sycophants grouped around her, hanging on her words. For Mrs. Charleworth’s status was that of social leader; she was a middle-aged widow, very handsome, wore won
derful creations in dress, was of charming personality, was exceedingly wealthy and much traveled. When she visited New York the metropolitan journals took care to relate the interesting fact. Mrs. Charleworth was quite at home in London, Paris, Berlin and Vienna; she was visiting friends in Dresden when the European war began, and by advice of Herr Zimmerman, of the German Foreign Office, who was in some way a relative, had come straight home to avoid embarrassment. This much was generally known.
It had been a matter of public information in the little town for a generation that Dick Charleworth had met the lady in Paris, when she was at the height of her social glory, and had won the hand of the beautiful girl and brought her to Dorfield as his wife. But the wealthy young manufacturer did not long survive his marriage. On his death, his widow inherited his fortune and continued to reside in the handsome residence he had built, although, until the war disrupted European society, she passed much time abroad.
The slight taint of German blood in Mrs. Charleworth’s veins was not regarded seriously in Dorfield. Her mother had been a Russian court beauty; she spoke several languages fluently; she was discreet in speech and negative in sympathy concerning the merits of the war. This lasted, however, only while the United States preserved neutrality. As soon as we cast our fortunes with the Allies, Mrs. Charleworth organized the “Daughters of Helpfulness,” an organization designed to aid our national aims, but a society cult as well. Under its auspices two private theatrical entertainments had been given at the Opera House and the proceeds turned over to the Red Cross. A grand charity ball had been announced for a future date.
It may easily be understood that when Mrs. Charleworth became a patroness of the Liberty Girls’ Shop, and was known to have made sundry purchases there, the high standing of that unique enterprise was assured. Some folks perhaps frequented the place to obtain a glimpse of the great Mrs. Charleworth herself, but of course these were without the pale of her aristocratic circle.
Their social triumph, however, was but one reason for the girls’ success; the youngsters were enticing in themselves, and they proved to be clever in making sales. The first stock soon melted away and was replaced by new contributions, which the girls took turns in soliciting. The best residences in Dorfield were first canvassed, then those of people in moderate circumstances. The merchants were not overlooked and Mary Louise took the regular stores personally in charge.
“Anything you have that you can’t sell, we will take,” was her slogan, and most of the merchants found such articles and good-naturedly contributed them to the Shop.
“Sooner or later we shall come to the end of our resources,” predicted Alora Jones. “We’ve ransacked about every house in town for contributions.”
“Let’s make a second canvas then,” suggested Lucile. “And especially, let us make a second appeal to those who did not give us anything on our first round. Our scheme wasn’t thoroughly understood at first, you know, but now folks regard it an honor to contribute to our stock.”
“Yes,” said Jane Donovan, “I had to laugh when Mrs. Charleworth asked Mrs. Dyer yesterday what she had given us, and Mrs. Dyer stammered and flushed and said that when we called on her the Dyers were only renting the house and furniture, which belonged to the Dudley-Markhams, who are in South America; but, Mrs. Dyer added, they have now bought the place — old furniture and all — and perhaps she would yet find some items she can spare.”
“Very good,” said Edna Barlow; “the Dyers are in my district and I’ll call upon them at once.”
“Have the Dyers really bought the Dudley-Markham place?” asked Mary Louise.
“So it seems,” replied Jane.
“But — ’it must have cost a lot of money.”
“Isn’t the Professor rich?” inquired Josie O’Gorman, who was present and had listened quietly to the conversation.
“I-don’t-know,” answered Mary Louise, and the other girls forbore to answer more definitely.
That evening, however, Josie approached the subject when she and Mary Louise were sitting quietly at home and the conversation more confidential.
“The Dyers,” explained her friend, “were not very prosperous until the Professor got the appointment as superintendent of schools. He was a teacher in a boys’ school for years, on a small salary, and everyone was surprised when he secured the appointment.”
“How did it happen?” asked Josie.
Mary Louise looked across at her grandfather.
“How did it happen, Gran’pa Jim?” she repeated.
The old colonel lowered his book.
“We haven’t been residents of Dorfield many years,” said he, “so I am not well acquainted with the town’s former history. But I remember to have heard that the Herring political ring, which elected our Board of Education, proposed John Dyer for the position of school superintendent — and the Board promptly gave him the appointment.”
“Was he properly qualified?” Josie asked.
“I think so. A superintendent is a sort of business manager. He doesn’t teach, you know. But I understand the Professor received his education abroad — at Heidelburg — and is well versed in modern educational methods. Our schools seem to be conducted very well.”
Josie was thoughtful for a time, and after the colonel had resumed his book, she asked Mary Louise:
“Who was Mrs. Dyer, before her marriage?”
“That is ancient history, as far as I am concerned, but I heard the girls talking about her, just the other day. Her family, it seems, was respectable but unimportant; yet Mrs. Dyer is very well liked. She’s not brilliant, but kindly. When we first came here, the Dyers lived in a little cottage on Juniper street, and it is only lately that they moved to the big house they’ve just bought. Mrs. Dyer is now trying hard for social recognition, but seems to meet with little encouragement. Mrs. Charleworth speaks to her, you know, but doesn’t invite Mrs. Dyer to her affairs.”
Next day Edna Barlow, after a morning’s quest of contributions, returned to the Shop in triumph.
“There’s almost a truck-load of stuff outside, to be unloaded,” she announced, “and a good half of it is from Mrs. Dyer — a lot of the old Dudley-Markham rubbish, you know. It has class to it, girls, and when it has been freshened up, we’re sure to get good prices for the lot.”
“I’m surprised that Mrs. Dyer was so liberal,” said Mary Louise.
“Well, at first she said the Professor had gone to Chicago on business, and so she couldn’t do anything for us,” replied Edna; “but I insisted that we needed goods right now, so she finally said we could go up in the attic, and rummage around, and take whatever we could find. My, what a lot of useless stuff there was! That attic has more smashed and battered and broken-legged furniture in it than would furnish six houses — provided it was in shape. The accumulation of ages. But a lot of it is antique, girls, and worth fixing up. I’ve made the best haul of our career, I verily believe.”
Then Laura Hilton, who had accompanied Edna, added:
“When Mrs. Dyer saw our men carrying all that stuff down, she looked as if she regretted her act and would like to stop us. But she didn’t — was ashamed to, probably — so we lugged it off. Never having been used to antique furniture, the poor woman couldn’t realize the value of it.”
“This seems to me almost like robbery,” remarked Lucile, doubtfully. “Do you think it right for us to take advantage of the woman’s ignorance?”
“Remember the Cause for which we fight!” admonished Irene, from her chair. “If the things people are not using, and do not want, can provide comforts for our soldier boys, we ought to secure them — if we have to take them by force.”
The attic of the old house had really turned out a number of interesting articles. There were tables, stands, settees, chairs, and a quaint old desk, set on a square pedestal with a base of carved lions’ feet. This last interested Josie as soon as it was carried into the shop. The top part was somewhat dilapidated, the cover of the desk being broken off
and some of the “pigeonhole” compartments smashed. But there was an odd lot of tiny drawers, located in every conceivable place, all pretty well preserved, and the square pedestal and the base were in excellent condition.
Josie open drawer after drawer and looked the old cabinet-desk over thoroughly, quite unobserved because the others in the shop were admiring a Chippendale chair or waiting upon their customers. Presently Josie approached Mary Louise and asked:
“What will you take for the pedestal-desk — just as it stands?”
“Why, I’ll let Irene put a price on it,” was the reply. “She knows values better than the rest of us.”
“If it’s fixed up, it will be worth twenty dollars,” said Irene, after wheeling her chair to the desk for a critical examination of it.
“Well, what will it cost to fix it up?” demanded Josie.
“Perhaps five dollars.”
“Then I’ll give you fifteen for it, just as it stands,” proposed Josie.
“You? What could you do with the clumsy thing?”
“Ship it home to Washington,” was the prompt reply. “It would tickle Daddy immensely to own such an unusual article, so I want to make him a present of it on his birthday.”
“Hand over the fifteen dollars, please,” decided Irene.
Josie paid the money. She caught the drayman who had unloaded the furniture and hired him to take the desk at once to the Hathaway residence. She even rode with the man, on the truck, and saw the battered piece of furniture placed in her own room. Leaving it there, she locked her door and went back to the Shop.
Complete Works of L. Frank Baum Page 618
